Tuesday, 5 October 2010

Woodland Wanderings

LEAF

IT WAS A COLD AND MISTY MORNING IN THE FOREST...

I had gone to sleep with the full moon peering through my open window, a dreamless night, ready to wake at dawn like every other morning. The house was quiet, except for the creaking of the attic door that was loose on its hinges, the noise reminded me of withered old bones.
I dressed quickly, pulling on my tattered boots and long velvet coat that kept the wind out. As I opened the front door and stepped out on to the gravelled path, I caught a glimpse of a startled fox foraging through the dustbin, a piece of yesterday’s remains dangling from its mouth.

The forest was only a few minutes distance from home, situated behind a crumbling factory that had ceased production. I came here to dream, to be at one with the earth. I had never seen another soul in this forest, it was rumoured to be haunted by spirits that crossed over from the other world.

*

A hawk circled lazily in the sky, watching, as I climbed the rickety bridge that lead to the waterfall. The water level was particularly high this morning, and autumn leaves floated downstream to meet their fate. As I reached the familiar meadow, with its welcoming silver birch trees, I discovered that I wasn’t alone.
The girl sat in the centre of the meadow, legs crossed, in a meditative state. I was aware of her gaze darting to my face, but she remained tranquil. She told me her name was Leaf.

When we clasped hands, I saw that she was a being of the earth, the forest her natural element. Leaf was a story teller, a weaver of magics.

Her fingers were stained with mud and berry juice and the dress she wore was ragged and adorned with different shades of green. Bracelets and bone jewellery hung from her slender wrists, jangling with the slightest movement. There was a circle of flowers laid out on the ground, enclosed by acorns and chestnut shells, an offering for the wood mother.

She began to tell me a story, about the lore of the ancient trees and gods of the earth.

Tales From The Dryad Forest

You may find me frolicking in the forest, dancing amongst the bluebells or by the sea; exploring caves and watching the waves tumble against the shore.
I like to photograph the world, paint, write and create things, and escape to realms created by storytellers.
I believe in magick and faery tales, myths, folklore and the paranormal.

Online Wanderings

~

Come away O human child!
To the waters and the wild,
With a faery hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping,
than you can understand.

W.B. Yeats ~ The Stolen Child

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine;
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.

William Shakespeare ~ A Midsummer Night's Dream

~

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

John Keats ~ La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away ere break of day,
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells...